Where Do Whores Go?
by DiscordantSymphony
Summary: Once, a man felled in love with a crofter's daughter. A cruel lie and a crueller man tore them both apart, the man had thought that his lady had been false to him though nothing could've been further than the truth, the lady went away, far far away for such a long time. She has returned for two things, revenge and too take back what is hers.
1. TYRION I

Where Do Whores Go?

 **TYRION I**

Tyrion Lannister wanted to stab someone, that was the truth of it. It would be so sweet if he actually did have a dagger of valyrian steel with a dragonbone hilt, he would love nothing more than to sink it in to Lady Catelyn Stark's pale white throat so he could be rid of her. He may have forgotten his curtsies but he thought that was more than understandable at the moment considering he had been taken captive and was now being marched into the mountains to be presented to Lady Stark's mad sister.

It wouldn't be so bad if he was more certain that help was coming, his father would send men to rescue him he was sure enough of that. Oh, his father bore him no great love to be sure, in truth the old lion despised him but he would never let such an insult to House Lannister stand, he may be the most wretched Lannister but he was still a Lannister.

And if not his father than Jaime would come and save him, Jaime had always been his champion for as long as he could remember, protecting him from anyone any anything that would do him any harm.

No, the problem wasn't the fact that there wouldn't be anyone looking for him, the problem was that they would all be looking for him in the wrong place. He had been taken from an inn at the crossroads and Lady Stark had said loudly that he was to be taken to Winterfell to face justice, of course they had then started to take the high road up into the mountains of the Vale.

Who knew that a wolf with trout for brains would be so very devious, he would commend her for it if he didn't feel so much like stabbing her in the face. He would've cursed her for, called her a great many things that might be unbecoming for a Lannister except he could not due to the rough leather gag that had been roughly shoved into his mouth by Lady Stark's master-at-arms, Cassal if he remembered right.

So many people that he would owe a debt too, it would be interesting to pay them all back in kind. Most of all that damned singer from the inn who been begging for some of his coin quite eagerly before Lady Stark had turned up, Marillion was his name if he remembered correctly. He wondered if this was some new form of torture that as of yet was not known to them below the Neck.

Oh, he had a pleasant enough voice to be sure but his rhyming did leave quite a bit to be desired and he did not know when to shut his fool mouth.

If there was one sweetness to be found then it was due to the six or so sellswords that had come with them from the inn, they had followed Lady Stark because surely they had thought that they would be paid but Lady Stark did not seem the type to even entertain the idea and if they did not get their money from her then they would look to other sources for it and no one had more gold than the Lannisters.

One of the swords, a man with dark eyes and dark hair seemed to realise that considering the looks he had been sending Tyrion, his name was Bronn if he remembered correctly.

Finally, after far too long their little party came to a stop and Tyrion was roughly pulled from the donkey he had been forced to ride and was set down on the ground by Cassel who undid his gag but did not grant his hands or his feet the same relief, foolishness to be truthful. His legs were stunted and he was unlikely to get very far if he tried to run and he couldn't outrun a horse even if he tried.

Where they had stooped was the final stretch of the high road before they would be entering the mountains, it would be difficult for anyone following them to ambush them once they entered the mountains but there were also the mountain clans of the Vale, those who though they had better claim than those who sat in the Eyrie above them all and they would be prime targets for them

Lady Stark strode forward, her Tully blue eyes were ice as they approached and she looked every the inch the great and noble lady to be sure. "Lord Tyrion, I offer you one last final chance. Confess your crimes now and I will plead for leniency, tell my why you tried to have my son killed when he laid abed and why you or your brother had him thrown from that window."

She was smart, she had recognised the threat of the mountain clans as well and didn't want to risk the road to her sister either, she also must've hoped that he would be so scared out his wits by them that he would confess to a crime that he did not commit. He was no fool, the only leniency he would be shown was a sharper blade. "My lady." He began with a heavy sigh and with false regret. "I will not confess to a crime that I did not commit, I wish that I could so I could put an end to this but I did not do it."

"You are not a foolish woman to be certain, you know that I would be foolish to send an assassin it was more than likely that your son would die from his fall, and even if he did live it was as like that he would not awaken and even if he did, it was also as like that he would not remember what ever it was he saw that caused him to fall or be thrown or whatever else you believe." Tyrion took a breath to calm himself as he realised that he was growing angry. "Believe want you want of me, most already do. But take my word on this, I am no fool. And there are better ways, I had nothing to do with young Bran's predicament."

In fact it was because of young Bran that he was in this predicament, perhaps this would finally teach him his lesson that kindness was a poison and he would be better of being rid of it.

His words seemed to have struck a word with Lady Catelyn, doubt was swimming in her eyes and her lips were pressed into a thin line as she clearly tried to think on what her next move would be.

Before she could say anything however the air was filled with the sound of a sharp twang and Tyrion had just enough time to realise what the noise was and throw himself down to the ground as an arrow pierced through the boiled leather of one of the sellswords.

There were shouts and screams and Tyrion watched as Marillion threw himself down to the ground as well, his pretty blue eyes widen open and going by the rank smell that soon filled the air he was certain that they were not the only things that were open as well.

More arrows flew and three more sellswords fell to the ground though none that Tyrion was all that concerned with, the air was filled with the sound of horses and soon across the fields he could see a dozen, no, two dozen, no three dozen horses galloping across the field.

Before long they were surrounded and Tyrion noticed two other things, the first was a few of the riders were standard bearers and the standard they bore unsettled him as it was disturbingly familiar. A wide open palm on a blood red field with a small pile of silver coins in it with a single golden coin atop it.

The second thing, all the riders were women. Some had olive skin, others the ebon of the Summer Islands, still others were pale and others were copper and a dozen other skin tones aside.

A rider pushed past the ranks and if Tyrion had to guess then he would assume that this was the leader, this one was clearly a woman as well and it shocked him how tiny she was, made even smaller looking by the large destier that she rode. She was dressed in bronze armour with a helm that covered her face but did not stop the ebony locks from flowing down her back, a short sword hung from one hip and a very long whip from the other. "We are the Whore's Daughters, we will take the dwarf." Her Common Tongue was lightly accented but it was extremely clear to hear, it was also familiar to him.

He had to commend her, if Lady Catelyn was afraid then she did not show it. "This man is my prisoner, he is under my protection. He has committed a grievous crime to me and mine and must face the King's Justice, you return to his father and tell him that."

For a moment there was only silence and Tyrion was terrified that he would soon here the other for them to all be killed, they were outnumber and these Whore's Daughters were on horseback and they were only on foot, they stood no chance. However, soon the silence was broken.

Laughter, a loud and thunderous laughter escaped from every single one of the women and for a moment Tyrion though that the leader would actually slip from her horse that she was laughing quiet so hard. After a moment the laughter died down though there was still the odd chuckle or giggle here or there. "We are no agents of Tywin Lannister, My Lady, I would have that man's head so I could hollow out his skull and use it as a cup...or a chamber pot, I haven't decided yet."

"Who are you?" Tyrion asked as he narrowed his eyes at the woman.

The woman did not speak for a moment and when she did he was surprised by how sad it sounded. "Have you forgotten me? Have I truly changed so very much?" The woman dismounted her horse, knelt in front of him and removed her helm.

"Tysha?"

 **End of Chapter.**

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 **So, I've gone utterly insane but this idea popped into my head and literraly would not leave so I had to at least give it a try. Let me know what you think of it!**


	2. CATELYN I

Where Do Whores Go?

 **Catelyn I**

This was quite possibly the surrealist and the strangest feast that Catelyn had ever attended, it was certainly one of the least comfortable. It was no fault of their host, given the circumstances they could've been treated a great deal worse, there was food to be eaten and warm tents to eat it in, no the problem was Tyrion Lannister.

Ever since the leader of this mercenary band had revealed herself to them the man seemed to think that he was in a dream, after it had became clear to him that, no it was not actually dream and asking for a thousand whores shining in oil and dressed in golden chains would not make them appear, he had fallen into a sullen silence, interspaced with him shooting hateful glares at their captor.

It was clear that their captor and the Imp knew one another, he had said her name and the looks he had been sending her...there was a history there though if she were to be honest she did not care to know it. She wanted to get to the Eyrie, to Lysa so they could find out the truth of things.

She should never have left Winterfell, she should've stayed at Bran's bedside until he had awoken, even the thought of her special little boy made her heart ache and as she shut her eyes she could almost see him there, laying in his bed, so small. As she thought of Bran her thoughts turned to Rickon, her sweet little babe who not so long ago had been small enough to lay in her arms and not even fill them.

Her thoughts turned to Sansa, her perfect little lady who was so gentle and sweet and thought life was a song, her thoughts turned to Arya who always came to her with her dresses ripped and covered with mud and with her sloppy stitching and all the worry she brought her, she would deal with all of that if she could hear her laughing in the yard as Harwin lead her pony around the yard.

She thought of Robb, her first boy. Her brave boy who she had left behind in Winterfell to rule, she shouldn't have left. He was too young and without her there he would have double the duties as well, she knew that Maester Luwin would do all that he could to help him but she still felt terrible about leaving him.

And then her thoughts to Ned, her sweet Ned. Every night she had been away from him she had dreamt of him, together and warm in their bed. Cuddling as the pure white snow fell gently outside the window.

She wanted to see them all again, she wanted them to be home and safe. That was what she wanted more than anything, even more than finding out who had hurt Bran.

But at least at the moment that had to wait, she had to be sure that she and Ser Rodrik would be leaving this tent alive, with Lord Tyrion. That was the only way she would accept leaving.

They were technically under guest right, there was no bread and salt but they had eaten apples and sharp cheese and some slices of ham, it was hardly the most pleasant meal she ever had but it had been filling and she wouldn't turn it down. The only problem was that she wasn't certain how much the guest right would matter to a sellsword company.

Ser Rodrik clearly did not seem at ease as he stared down at the plate where only a few crumbs of food and an apple core remained, he looked very strange with out his sword but the guards at the tent would not let him pass without relinquishing it, the few surviving sellswords had been forced to the same rule and were sitting at the table as well. Catelyn still had the dagger which she had taken from the catspaw as had managed to keep it well hidden but she was unsure how much good a single dagger would do her.

Even if, by some miracle where all seven gods were smiling on, they managed to fight their way out of the tent they would not be able to fight there way out of the camp beyond. It lay ten and half leagues away from the high road, it was a mismatched collections of tents that had clearly been collected from all over the world, rough brown things that looked it could barely shelter a single person, feast tents that could hold fifty and a colossal thing that stretched all the way to the sky and looked like it was for a grand king and could hold hundreds. Even from the high road she had been able to see it, though it had only been a speck in the distance.

Around all the tents were cookfires with the smell of cooking meat and fish, washer women were washing in linens and small clothes in a wide river near the west end of the camp and other women were catching fish from the same river, using spears and tridents and nets and their own hands, a plump woman with ebon skin was slitting the throats of goats and cutting and salting their meat.

There were hundreds of women, thousands in fact, she wasn't sure but it could maybe have been four but clearly no greater than five. They seemed to be from all over the world, the ebon of the summer isle, the milk men of the Qarth, the pale skinned and silver haired of Lys, the dusky skinned of Myr, the burnt copper of the Dothraki and the dark olive of the Dornish.

Of the four thousand only a little over one seemed ready to fight, armed and armoured and only a little under a third of that seemed had horses. She spied three women who had the look of the north dressed in mail with swords held in swordbelts, she thought to call on them for aid but they clearly recognised her and one spat at her.

There was a Dothraki woman who was as muscled as any man with a large bronze sword in her lap, she had been sharpening it with a whetstone when she was Catelyn staring at her and shot her a glare. Near to her was a Dornish woman with a long whip, what was incredible was that at her feet lay two sleeping tigers that when she cracked her whip awoke and growled low.

But the vast majority of the camp was not warriors they were washer woman, women that tended to the animals and women that tended to the fires, they were armed but they were only knives or cudgels and were clearly not meant to fight. There were even children, girls and boys and all were training with weapons or kicking a ball around or were helping the women with there tasks, one or two even seemed to be acting as something akin to squires.

Catelyn wasn't sure how a sellsword company was meant to act but she was fairly sure that they didn't take this many people who didn't fight with them, it reminded her more of a Dothraki hoard was supposed to be like, at least according to her lessons, what she could remember of them.

Once inside the grand tent, she found it reminded her a great deal of the great hall of Winterfell. There were at least a hundred small tables and a long tall away from all the others, their group had been sat at that one. At the top of the table was the woman who lead these Whore's Daughters, her skin had been baked brown by too much time in the sun but it had clearly been pale before her, her head was topped by black hair that fell to her back and her face was pleasant to look upon even though she was no great beauty.

At her left was a bare-chested woman with the darkest skin she had ever seen with iron rings through her nipples, bronze rings around her thin, long neck and rubies in her cheeks with a bronze pike with a black iron head hanging loosely in her grip, on the woman's right was a young woman with messy hair the colour of mud with two hatches hanging of her hips and dike in a sheath on her thigh.

All the women at the table and all of them seemed to be important, one was a Dothraki armed with two curved blades and a whip, an another a black woman with a bow made of goldenheart wood, another woman with mess of scars and missing an ear and an eye with a large battle-axe over her knees.

"Are you going to continue to sulk?" The leader, Tysha, Lord Tyrion had called her, spoke to Tyrion as she finished peeling with an orange with a knife and popped a slice of the fruit into her mouth. "I seem to remember you at being good at making me laugh, it was the thing I loved most about you. Won't you try and make me laugh?"

"And why would I do that?" The Imp grunted as he reached out and picked up a plain mug which was filled with sour red, he took a deep drink of his wine. "Do you make all your captives amuse you?"

"You are not my captive, you are my husband." There was a terrible time to take a drink of wine and soon Catelyn was trying to hack up the wine as Lord Rodrick rubbed her back to try and sooth her, if Tysha noticed then she clearly didn't care. "And it was one of the things I loved the most about you, you used to tell me all your jests and I would laugh all the time as we laid in our bed, do you remember?."

"I remember you lied to me, I remember that you are no wife of mine. You're a whore." The sheer hate in his voice and in his mismatched eyes disturbed her but it did not seem to disturb or anger the woman, it only seemed to make her sad. The other women at the table seemed to be angered in her stead, the mud haired girl brushed her hand against one of her hatchets.

Catelyn had to intervene, he couldn't die here. She still had to learn the truth of what had happened to Bran. "My lady!" She called and Tysha turned to face her though she seemed unsure as to wither or not she was taking to her. "I must ask that you give us leave to go, this man is awaiting trial and my sister is waiting for us."

"I see, well, forgive me my lady but this is my husband you accuse and I can not let you take him. Still, I have no issue with you. You may go on you way." Tysha said as she took a sip of her own wine.

"My lady is generous!" The singer from the tavern cried out, he stood from his chair and then knelt at her feet and strummed his wood harp. "Might I compose a long to my lady's beauty and the valour of her warrior maids?"

"If you'd like." The young man's face fell and Tysha laughed gently. "Why don't you compose a song for sweet Lika? With her mouth like honey and her eyes that sparkle more than those rubies in her cheeks?" She asked as she tilted her head towards the woman on her left whose face had coloured red, the singer nodded and turned his attention to Like, his eyes widening and his skin turning red with blush as he turned to the woman and her eyes landed on her breasts.

"If it is gold you want, then name your price. My husband is Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North and Lord Paramount of the North and my father is Lord Hoster Tully, Lord of Riverun and Lord Paramount of the Trident. I must admit that we have little gold between us but having two Lord Paramounts owe you a favour can come in handy." She felt terrible promising things in Ned's and her father's name but she wasn't sure what else she could do, she couldn't let them take Tyrion.

"Very generous, but I would remind you that if I wanted gold I could take my Lord Husband back to his father and get a small castle besides, but I don't want anything of the sort from that man. Would you like to know what I want from Lord Tywin?" Tysha unfurled her whip and placed it on the table. "I want to burn Casterly Rock to the ground, I want it's halls to run red with blood, I want to take all the gold from it, and then? I want to strip Lord Tywin and whip him naked through the streets of Lannisport so all the people can see how far their lord has fallen, and then, maybe I will allow him to die."

Catelyn honestly didn't know what to say to that, she had never heard such anger in her entire life. Such hate, she didn't doubt for a second that was what the younger woman wanted more than anything else. Even Tyrion seemed surprised though not disapproving. "You have changed a great deal."

"I had too, it was change and survive or don't and die." Tysha reached out and took her whip off the table. "I choose to survive, to grow strong and to return here, find you and make your Lord Father suffer a thousands time what I suffered. It's funny, I only went across the narrow sea to get away but I only had the money due to his generosity...and yours."

"You were a whore." The imp whispered but he honestly seemed ashamed.

"Is that what you think?" Tysha let out bitter laughter and shook her head. "No, I'm not a whore. Some call me the mother of whores, they all feel behind my banner. Women who have been used and abused by men high and low, by women high and low. We choose to be strong. That is what the Whore's Daughters are, we are no sellswords we are the force that will change the world."

"Now, you and I must speak. Everyone please escort our guests out, they are leaving now." Before Catelyn could say anything she was out of her chair and was being ushered out of the tent and back to their horses, Ser Rodrick and the sellswords were given back their swords but it mattered little as one knight and a few sellswords would be enough.

They were saddled on their horses and were riding away from the tents. "My lady, what should we do now?" Ser Rodrik asked as he rode alongside her.

Catelyn had been thinking on that, she didn't have the Imp and she had no way to get him back and there was no reason now to go the Eyrie, this venture was lost to her. "There is nothing else for us here, we shall return to the north." Catelyn admitted with a sigh, well, at least she would get to see her children sooner than she thought she would have.

End of Chapter.

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 **Welp, here's the first major change. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it. Please follow, favourite and review if you enjoyed.**

 **Love,**

 **Doctorwhofan12345.**


	3. TYSHA I

Where Do Whores Go?

 **Tysha I**

This had not been what she had been expecting, she wasn't sure what she had been expecting if she was to be honest with herself, a part of her that was still that foolish girl who had been rescued by rapers on the side of a road by a handsome golden knight and his dwarf brother, had said that she would forgive him as soon as she looked at him. That all would be forgiven.

Nothing was forgiven, despite how much she tried to forgive. She could still feel it, even after all these years. Despite how much she tried to smother it with her rage, her hate. It didn't work, she only had that rage and hate because of what he did to her, it might have been his father who had ordered that it be done to her, it might have been all the guards in the barracks who did it too her first.

But it was Tyrion who was seared on to her heart, it was Tyrion's whose face she saw in her dreams. He was the one who truly hurt her, she would see to it that the guards would pay their debt to her as well, and her lord husband's father and his brother as well.

But try as she might to remember anything about them, their faces or how they had laughed and spat on her or how the great lion of the rock had droned on and on about it, asking if his son was paying attention as they watched her being debased, as they watched her being raped, he told him that she was a whore and this is what she was meant for.

Even in her dreams she could still hear the clinking of those damned coins, at the end of that night, the worst night of her life they had dug into the skin of her palms and at the end of it her blood had turned the coins at the bottom red, but none of them had hurt as much as the gold dragon that had been placed on top of one of those piles.

It had been like a knife in her heart, it almost hurt worse than when Tyrion had finally taken her, all the gentleness and love he had for her and faded and it seemed as through those days in that little cottage had been nothing but a dream, a faded memory.

Those days had been some of the happiest in her entire life, she never thought that she would ever be married. She had been the youngest of seven daughters, their home had never been short of love but it had little of anything else. She remembered many nights when she had gone without a meal, and on the nights when it was her turn to eat she remembered that she often had to fight to keep the little that was hers.

It was not that her sisters had not loved her, she knew that they had as much as she had loved them, but they hadn't wanted to go hungry either. There had been threats and punches and kicks but in the end it had been forgotten like it had never even happened, it was just the way of life.

Still, despite being the youngest and the smallest she had manage to pull through it all, she had managed to grow stronger and taller, when three of her sisters had already passed on to the Mother's embrace. At least that was what the septon who had always stayed in the sept in the village near their cottage had always said. Tysha wasn't sure if she believed that if she was going to be honest.

She had been there when the eldest of her sisters had died, she had been very pretty. The only one to have the thick red hair of their mother, Tysha had always wished that she had it but that sister had been the only one to ever have, their mother said it made her very lucky.

And that always seemed to be true, that sister was very lucky. So many of the boys in the village had fallen in love with her as soon as they as they looked at her, at least that was what she thought it was when she was a little girl. Looking back now with the knowledge she had gained about how the world worked...it was clear to her that love had not been the thing that any of those boys had wanted.

Regardless her sister's luck hadn't lasted, no one in the village had known what it was but that didn't change the effect. A wasting illness had stricken the village and spread like wildfire from cottage to cottage, their cottage was far away from the centre of it but that didn't stop it from affecting them.

Her sister spent so much time in the village, after all.

It had started as a cough, at the time they had not worried about it. They hadn't known that there was anything to be worried about, it was only later that they had learned that the illness had struck the village. Her sister had been confined to her bed and all her chores were given to the rest of them while she just laid there, covered in a dozen blankets while their mother told her stories and poured onion broth down her throat.

Tysha remembered thinking that it was so unfair that she got to lie about while the rest of them had to do her work on top of theirs, she remembered hating her for it.

She hadn't felt like that for long however, not when it became clear to all of them that she was never going to be able to get out of that bed again and that tiny spoonful's of onion broth was all that she was able to keep down any more. It was almost funny in a way looking back on it, after all the time and all the pain that Tysha had suffered through to get to this point.

All the life and hope her sister had and none of it had matter in the end, an illness had laid her down low. She had told them that she had been spending time with the blacksmith's apprentice and he was going to marry her when he had his own trade. The apprentice had died due to the illness as well.

When that sister had finally passed away, there had certainly be sadness but they didn't have time to mourn her. Work had to be done, there was a reason her mother and father had that many children. There were always more to spare, and it meant that for the rest of them it meant that their own shares of food got a little bit bigger.

She wasn't the last sister that Tysha had lost, the one that was only older by Tysha by a year had killed when a horse had kicked her in the head, that had been kinder in a way. There had been no lingering on a death bed, there had been no desperate praying to the gods, no hope for some miracle that would never, ever come. It was more than likely that sister had been dead before her body had even hit the ground.

The other one had been in the middle of her siblings and had her throat cut by brigands that hid in the forest, none of them had known what she had been doing out there but if Tysha had to guess then she was probably meeting someone that she shouldn't have been.

Tysha wondered what it said about her that could remember how three of her sisters had died but she couldn't remember any of their names, she supposed that it didn't say anything good. She hadn't truly thought about any of them in years, she wasn't even sure if the rest of his sisters or her mother and father were still alive.

She was fairly sure that her father wasn't alive anymore, he had not been a young man the last time she had seen him. A great deal of time had passed since then and their home was close enough to Lannisport that he might have at least heard some stories about what had happened to her, she doubted that he would've been able to survive that.

Her mother had been younger than her father, almost ten years younger. She had been stronger as well, and healthier. It was possible that she was still alive but Tysha couldn't be sure of that, as for the rest of her sisters she supposed it was possible that they were still alive but it was also just as possible that they were dead as well.

A part of her, a small part of her but a part of her all the same, wanted to find them but she didn't know where she would even begin to look. Her best bet would be to try and go to the cottage but it had been years and it was in the Westerlands, she couldn't go there yet. Not until she and her followers were ready.

And even if she did go back there she doubted that any of them would still be there, all of her sisters were older than her and they had been fine the last time she had seen them, but that was years ago. That was before she had married Tyrion.

She had wanted to go and see them after what had happened to her, more than anything she had wanted that but she hadn't. She was terrified that they wouldn't want her anymore, all of Lannisport had known what happened to her and gossip spread faster than flames ever did, and was even more deadly she had found.

Even if she had been able to overcome her fear of rejection she didn't have the chance to go and see them, after it had been over and done with the steward of Casterly Rock had shown her out. The man had not been unkind to her, all things considered. He even seemed to have some pity for her, he seemed ashamed of what his lord had done to her. He had sent her on her way with her fee in a large brown bag and a pale grey mare which would take her to Lannisport with the advice to take ship as soon as possible.

She supposed if that man was still a steward for the Lannisters then she might let him live, maybe. But even then she couldn't be certain, on her worst days she dreamed of all of Casterly Rock ablaze even through she knew that stone couldn't burn and it crumbling in to the sea.

She wanted all of House Lannister to burn, she wanted to bring all of it to ruin. And when every single man, woman and child with Lannister blood was dead, then and only then would she allow Tywin Lannister to die. When he realised that in punishing his son for marrying for love he had brought about the end of his house.

That had been a favourite dream of hers, at her lowest moments it had kept her alive. Hate was a better meal than anything else, hate could keep you warm. Could give you something to live for, revenge was all she had left. Tysha the peasant girl, Tysha the crofter's daughter. That girl was gone now, all that was left what was her hate and anger had made of her.

Who was that?

She only wished she knew the answer.

In her dreams Tyrion was always there, sometimes he was sitting at her side drinking the same wine they had drunk on their wedding night as they watched his father's legacy come crumbling down in front of him. And sometimes he was on his knees as well, his mouth gagged so she didn't have to hear his pleas for mercy or his apologies. She never wanted to hear them.

And in some versions of the dream he was already dead, a red smile stretching across his neck, she had always loved Tyrion's smiles. That one was one of her favourites, she wasn't sure what she wanted anymore. She wanted Tyrion back, she wanted him to be her husband again. She wanted to say the words to him and have him cloak her again and this time say it to a septon who wasn't slurring his words.

She wanted to punish him for what he had done to her, he had raped her as well. She wanted to take her whip and beat him until all the skin was flayed off of his back, she wanted to give him to her girls so he could see what it was like. She doubted that any of her girls would be up to it however.

Most of them hadn't gone through anything like she had gone through, but some of them had. But even so they wouldn't do to Tyrion what their attackers had done to them. They were better people then she was and yet they had decided that Tysha should lead them just because she had brought them together.

A crofter's daughter and the wife of the Imp of House Lannister at the head of an army of women, it would be the best jest she had ever heard if it wasn't the saddest thing that she had ever heard. She slumped down in the chair at the top of the feast table. A noise bubbled out of her throat and she couldn't tell if it was laughter or sobbing.

She was the only one left in the large feast tent that had been set up so it didn't matter if she was breaking down, Lady Stark, her man and her sellswords had been sent on their way and Tysha's noble husband had been sent to her tent, she had told him that she wanted to speak to him but in truth that was the last thing that she wanted, she shouldn't have sent him to her tent as it would give him the wrong idea but she didn't want to waste anyone's time with setting up a new tent for him.

She didn't know how long she sat there, sobbing or laughing to herself. Regardless it eventually faded away to just whimpers as she rocked slowly back and forth in the chair for a while, she didn't notice the flaps of the tent opening and that she wasn't alone until Jara was kneeling in front of her gently took hold of her hands.

Tysha never thought that anyone from the Iron Islands could be gentle, the Ironborn had often raided in the Reach when she had been young and while they had never gotten far enough in to threaten the Westerlands stories of what the ironborn did, burning villages and taking crops and stealing women to be their wives. It had terrified her when she had still been young enough to be terrified of anything.

Jara was the result of one of those raids, the bastard daughter of one of the lords of the Iron Islands and one of his salt wives. She had been basically ignored by her father from the moment she had been brought kicking and screaming into this world. Apparently he had often forgot that she was his daughter and not a servant, she had fled from the Iron Islands as soon as she was able.

Tysha had meat Jara in Braavos, the year before she and the Whore's Daughters had returned to Westeros, she had been trying to make her way as a courtesan but while Jara was certainly not ugly in any way she could not match the great beauty that most of the courtesans of Braavos had, Jara had messy brown hair which framed a broad face with thin lips and a pudgy nose which looked like it had been broken at least once, her eyes were a bright green however that seemed to pull everyone into them.

She was a better fighter than a lover at any rate, she always carried a hatchet on both of her hips as well as a dirk in a sheath lower down on her leg. Still, despite how fierce in a fight she was and the circumstances in which she was raised it did not stop Jara from being one of the kindest and most gentle people that she knew.

"Breath, you're safe Tysha. I promise." Tysha knew that was true, her head told her that it was true but her heart did not seem to be listening. Her heart told her that she would never be safe as long as Tywin Lannister was still alive, all the time that she was in Essos she had been terrified that she would turn a corner and come face to face with a sellsword who had been paid with Lannister gold to make sure that Tyrion would never find her, just in case the lesson hadn't stuck.

It never happened, she imagined that the old lion had put her out of his mind the moment he was sure that his son had learned the lesson. She was abandoned and forgotten by everyone back in Westeros, none of them would ever spare a thought for her.

That was the day she had learned how to fight, as soon as she was able she became a sellsword, it took time. At first all the jobs she could get did not pay well, mainly she was guarding caravans of trade goods that were going to all of the other free cities and she had been hired along with dozens of other sellswords. More than likely the people who were paying her expected her to die. She never did.

The best paying of the jobs she managed to get in those early days only paid her a small handful of silver, of course at the time she thought it was a great deal of money because it had been the most she had ever seen in her entire life. She knew that her husband had more money than that of course but those weeks in that little cottage she had never seen any of it, she didn't want too. All she wanted was to stay in their bed forever.

And for a time it seemed they had, until swords and spears had broken down their doors.

She hadn't spent much of the money at the time, only enough for food and wine and better arms and armour to replace the cheep steal she had to start with and later on to repair what weapons she had chosen to keep with her, the rest of the money went to clothes and the odd woman who had taught her all the tongues of the free cities.

It took time, it took a great deal of time but in the end she had managed to build something of a reputation for herself and in time better paying, and more dangerous, jobs came to her. She had made many friends in that time, and a few enemies as well. If she ever saw Beska and Asher again she was going to make them both a lot less pretty. She had travelled to every single free city that she could and had seen things she had never thought possible, for good and for ill.

And the end result of all that time in Essos was now that she was finally home and had an army at her back, she always thought that she would feel better about that. She always imagined it would feel like a moment of victory, Tywin Lannister hadn't managed to scare her off.

It didn't feel like victory if she was to be honest with herself, it didn't feel like anything. If just felt like being.

She shook her head and focused her attention back on to Jara who had not said anything, simply kept holding her hands and waited for her to speak. The younger woman was used to her long silences, there was often days when Tysha simply did not speak. "I know Jara, I am well. I promise."

To say that Jara did not look convinced would be understating it somewhat but she had the decency to not press on the matter. She got to her feet and swaggered over to the table, the hatches on her hips swaying with her steps as she scooped up a half finished goblet of wine. "What are we doing here?"

"I told you, we here to get our vengeance. Have you forgotten?" She wasn't sure how she could have, for the year that Tysha had known the girl she had been focused on her vengeance as much as Tysha had been.

"I will never forget that, I promise. I am going to use my dagger to carve my name into his forehead, he'll never forget it then. But that doesn't change the fact that I have to ask, what are we doing here?" Jara placed the goblet of wine down on to the table and crossed her arms. "And I don't mean here on the road, though if you ask me we shouldn't stay this close to the Vale and we should have left while it was still light but forget about that for the moment."

"You want vengeance against House Lannister, against Tywin. I understand but how are we going to do that exactly? I am not from Essos, I know who exactly Tywin Lannister actually is. He's the Lord of House Lannister and the Westerlands. How many men could he raise to fight for him if it came to it?"

"Ignoring that part for the moment, he is the father of the queen. Do you honestly she will let her husband sit by while her father is under threat? I don't think so. We could easily have all of Westeros against us, and how many of us did we decide can actually fight? Two thousand. It's something we can't win."

"I don't mean to go to war, not yet at any rate." Tysha stood from her chair and walked around the table, putting her hands on the younger woman's shoulders. "Right now, what I need is for you to trust me. I know what I'm doing and I promise we will be away from here before morning."

Jara sighed but nodded, she knew better than to argue with her when her mind was set on something. "Is there anything you need me to do?"

"Did you show my Lord Husband to my tent?"

"I did, why did you marry him again? I mean it can't have been for beauty and knowing you like I do I doubt it was for the gold, but don't tell me it was for his wit. The man is insufferable." Jaraa sighed heavily and Tysha couldn't stop herself from laughing at it. "I hate Lika, I get to escort a dwarf and she gets to bed that singer."

"Do you think she's going to keep him around?" The singer, named Marillion, was fair enough to look at, with his sandy blonde hair and pretty blue eyes and Lika was something of a soft touch who liked pretty men, she liked bedding pretty men as well.

But Tysha actually doubted that she would keep the man, a few quick tumbles in her bed and she would send him on his way. It would certainly be an experience that the young man would not forget, Tysha had not been able to take anyone into her bed after what had happened to her, through there had been plenty off offers. And some who tried to take her.

The former were politely turned down, the latter she punished in accordance with the King's Law. Sadly, there was no wall to send them. Lika had been the first she had allowed into her bed after what had happened to her, they had met during a job she had, taking her to Yunkai.

She had never met anyone like the other woman, with skin as black as Maester's ink and rubies in her cheeks and iron rings through her nipples. She had been armed with a long spear and dressed in a skirt made of copper rings while not wearing a stich above her waist.

She had been from Bayasabhad, a city known for it's warrior women, and they had tried to kill one another before they had even tried to speak. It seemed that the both of them had the same target, for Tysha it had only been the forth time that she had ever been hired to kill someone, there was a difference between killing some to defend yourself and killing someone because that was the job.

Apparently he was a Great Master that had offended the wrong person, or more than one wrong person. They had spent a day and a half fighting one another and another two days nursing their wounds that by the time they finally agreed to put their weapons down and share the gold a third assassin had already gotten to their target.

They spent days bonding over that, most of their bonding was done through drinking, laughing and trying to kill one another several times over but after a while a bond had been formed and when Tysha left to return to Pentos, Lika came with her.

She had been the first woman to join her, she knew that some sellswords who didn't join companies would sometimes chose to travel in pairs but she didn't think that she would ever trust anyone enough to have them stay close to her with a weapon in their hands. But despite herself, she trusted Lika.

One night, after a very well paying job where they had spent most of the money from it up in a bar, ordering drinks heavily spiced and the colour of dark amber and thick slices of goat that had been roasted with a dozen different spices with names that she could not wrap her tongue around, mostly due it having gone numb after she thought it was going to burn to ashes right in her mouth, Lika had asked her a simple enough question.

Why did she never spend any of the coin they earned on whores? Lika often did and there always seemed to be an opportunity to do so in any corner of Essos. Tysha had drunk several of the dark amber drinks by that point in the evening and thus told her the entire sad story that was her life.

Once she had finished speaking Lika had stared at her as if for the first time she had been able to see her, truly see her. They had fallen into a silence that seemed to bear down on them both like a heavy weight that was going to crush the air out of their lungs.

After a long stretch of time Tysha had began to wonder if all the noise in the world had left it before Lika had sighed and took a sip of her drink before she spoke. "Life is full of cruel men, monsters. In Bayasabhad we are ruled by the Great Fathers, most boys are cut and made to serve in kitchens and stables and temples while the women defend the city and hunt and fish. Only a few boys remain uncut, the biggest and the strongest. When they grow old enough they become the Great Fathers, I have never known a kind Great Father, nor one with a gentle touch."

Tysha didn't want to hear anymore, in truth she did not have too. The two of them spent the rest of that night eating and drinking and jesting and even crying, which Tysha not done since that day. Before then she had honestly thought that all of her tears had dried up.

At the end of the night they had stumbled back to their inn, in truth it had been closer to the dawn than it was to midnight as the sky was turning the colour of a light peach, and fell into a bed. They hadn't realised until later that they had fallen into the same bed.

It had been no great night of passion, to be sure. They were drunken and clumsy and Tysha at least had no idea what she was doing, she had never even thought about kissing a woman. She had certainly never thought about bedding one, she had barely spared any thought to bedding any men when she had been younger.

Plus, the iron rings were and the rubies were certainly pretty but they made things quite awkward in places, and they were cold against her skin and when she tried to press kisses to her cheeks the rubies scratched at her lips.

But besides all of that she found that she enjoyed it, she had never thought that she would ever be able to take anyone into her bed ever again. Taking a bed with someone had been something that had terrified her for so long, it had been soured by that day. It was no longer in her mind an act of warmth or love or pleasure, it was something made up of hate and spite and punishment.

But Lika made her remember how it could be, with her kisses that were so gentle and tasted like honey. She never forced her legs apart and she always asked if what she was doing was alright, or if she could continue.

She had loved Lika for that, in a way she still did. In the morning Lika did not proclaim any great love for her but she had held and told her that she would not leave her and that she would warm her bed for her any night that she chose.

It only occurred a handful of times more, when she doubted the decisions she was making, or when someone had angered her or when she just needed to forget the world. She wasn't in love with Lika, not in the way she had loved Tyrion. But she needed her, she needed her at her side in meetings with the others, during battles, during feasts. She needed her and if anything happened to her then she would truly be lost.

Maybe that was better than love, or maybe it was just a love of a different sort.

"I doubt it." She finally said in answer to Jara's question. "But no doubt by the time morning comes the singer will wish she did."

Jara laughed loud and long at that and Tysha joined in with her, it felt good to know that she could still laugh even after all this time. When Jara had finally finished laughing she cleared her throat. "Do you mind if I turn in for the night?"

Tysha gave her leave and watched as she left the tent, she wondered if she should call her back and command her to drink with her until she passed out. Anything other than having to go and face Tyrion, she truly had no idea what she would say to him when they were alone.

She picked up Jara's goblet from the table and finished the wine left inside of it off. She threw the goblet to the side and let out a deep breath, she had to face him eventually no matter how much she might want to put it off and so she turned and strode out of the tent.

As she stepped outside the two guards who stood at the tent shot off a quick salute to her which she returned with a nod, Tysha was only glad that they had not intruded on her while she had been breaking down, she didn't know either of the women that well.

From her and Lika they had brought other women into the Whore's Daughters, mostly they had been other sellswords that they had met on jobs but as the Daughters had grown more and more women flocked to their banner, large numbers of whom couldn't even fight and some had even brought their children with them.

They weren't an army, they weren't a sellsword company. She didn't know what they were.

She walked through the mass of tents that were huddled around, nodding her head at anyone who called out her name and smiling as two children ran past her. She rubbed her hands to stave of the chill, she had forgotten how cold Westeros could be even in the Summer.

It didn't take her long to find her tent, it wasn't very special looking in truth as she didn't want any special treatment. It was slightly larger than the rest of the tents that surrounded it and it was a deep purple colour but other than that, it wasn't any different than any other tents around it.

She stood outside for a few moments before she took in a deep breath and walked to the tent flaps, the two guards saluted but Tysha didn't pay any attention to them, her mind was focused on one thing at the moment.

She pushed through the tent flaps and there her husband sat, a goblet of wine clasped in his hand. He spared a glance at her and his mismatched eyes shone with something that Tysha could not recognise before he took a sip from the goblet. "You're daughters are quite pleasant, not that I can get them to speak to me much."

"They aren't my daughters."

"No, I thought you were called the Whore's Daughters?"

"Charming, I see your wit hasn't abandoned you. That's good, it was one of the things that I loved most about you."

"You're a whore, I doubt that you have ever loved anyone."

"I am not a whore, your father lied to you."

"Pah, I can see my father lying to me easily enough but not Jaime. Jaime would never lie to me." Tyrion finished off the wine and jumped out of his chair. "Why did you marry me? You were a whore and well paid for your service, why play with me that way? What made you so cruel?"

She wanted to punch him, she wanted to hit him so much that his face became a raw and bloody mess. She wanted to make him even uglier than he was already, as ugly as his words were and to make him feel as much pain as he made her feel, she was suddenly very aware of the whip that hung off of her hip.

"I'm cruel? Your father had me raped, you raped me and I am cruel. I didn't want of that, I didn't want any of his filthy coin either. And I didn't want any of your gold either. All I wanted was you, do you honestly think that your brother didn't lie to you, that he couldn't lie to you. I swore the words, I swore to love. I am yours and you are mine, that's what we swore to one another. I am no whore."

Tyrion stared at her and for the first time, or at least for all the time that Tysha had spent with him she saw something that might actually have been doubt. But as soon as it appeared it had vanished and Tyrion crossed his arms. "I still don't believe you."

It took everything that Tysha had not to scream at him and tackle him to the ground, at that moment it seemed as through all the love she had ever had for him had vanished from her body and all that was left was murderous rage that could burn down a kingdom, or seven.

"I don't need you to believe me. I have an offer for you." Tysha sat down and gestured for him to retake his seat, Tyrion did so but he seemed to do it with a great amount of reluctance. "Let's say that I am what your father and brother say I am, I am a whore that your brother bought for you and I only married you for the gold of Casterly Rock. Unless I've misjudged the man you are, I bet the tiny little shard of the man I married who still survives in you hates what you did to me, and hates your father for ordering those guards to rape me as well."

Tyrion didn't say anything but as he refused to look her in the eye Tysha didn't need him to say anything to know that she was close enough to the truth. "Your brother Jaime's in the Kingsguard, yes? I can think of no man who deserves it less. Regardless, by the laws of gods and men that makes you the heir to Casterly Rock."

"It does, I do not see-

"You're a fool if you think he will ever let you be the Lord of House Lannister, let alone giving you Casterly Rock. The only was you'll ever be either. Is if you take it. Here is my offer, and the reason I returned. Come with me to Slavers Bay, to Astrapor. The Wise Masters think of the Seven Kingdoms as a whole as little more than savage barbarians but even they won't turn away gold. And none has more gold than a Lannister."

"An interesting offer, I have no gold on hand. Certainly not enough to buy any slave soldiers." Tyrion scoffed but Tysha was sure that she saw something shining in his eyes, even if was just simple curiosity.

"Even the Wise Masters have heard of the Lannisters, the promise of enough gold might be enough to convince them. If not, what do you have to lose." Tysha held out her hand, so Tyrion might shake through a little part of the girl she was hoped that he might press a kiss to it. "What do you say, do we have a deal?"

Tyrion stared at her for a few moments, clearly weighing his options and planning escapes before he finally took her hand and shook it. "We have a deal."

"Good."

"Shall we celebrate a deal well struck? The bed does look oh so inviting."

"No."

"Are you certain? I do have some silver on me now that I think of it, maybe even some gold as well."

"Get out of my tent before I cut your poisonous little tongue you, do be quick about it. I might regret it later, I was quite fond of your tongue from what I can recall. You may sleep in one of the feast tents." As soon as she uttered the words Tyrion jumped from his chair and waddled out of the tent and Tysha was alone.

She stumbled over to the bed and crawled on top of it, not bothering to get under the covers. She laid her head against the pillow and tried not to cry, she briefly considered asking one of the guards to find Lika and bring her but she decided against it. It wasn't fair to ruin her fun to ask her to come and comfort her.

As she began to fall sleep, she prayed to gods she had stopped believing in long ago that she would not dream.

End of Chapter

* * *

 **So, this chapter took me a long time to get to and I hope everyone one likes it. This is probably the angstest story that I am ever going to write as the subject matter is not the happiest so I changed the genre accordingly, the Romance is still present but it is not going to be a smooth road.**

 **So, please review, follow and favourite and as always constructive criticism is welcomed and appreciated.**

 **Love,**

 **Doctorwhofan12345.**


	4. TYRION II

Where Do Whores Go?

 **Tyrion II**

A light rain was pelting against the ground and turning it into mud, it threatened to turn into a heavy downpour that would make it difficult for them to continue on. He clutched his cloak closer to him, it was not the sort of finery he was used too, it wasn't made of sable or the fur of a mountain lion. It was rough spun and itchy, still it gave him some warmth and he found that he needed that more than he needed an actual comfortable cloak.

Tysha had not been to see him in his new quarters, and calling them that was him being generous as it was a tent that was barely big enough for even him and a rough cot was what supported him in the night and was nothing compared to his bed back at Casterly Rock, he might have been shoved into a room which was far away from the rest of his family but he at least had a bed that he could sink into at the end of the day, soft silk sheets that had been dyed red and if he was lucky then he would have a pitcher of wine with him and if he was feeling daring then he would even slip in a whore.

No, he would never be that daring. Not ever again, his dear father had made it clear that his whorings were to be confined to Lannisport and nowhere else. Else what was done to Tysha was done to any other whore that he had brought in to the Rock.

He imagined that it could be worse, at least in this tent he had privacy as for the first few days since he agreed to Tysha's deal he had been sleeping in a feast tent and it had been not done much as cold air had been easily able to reach him inside and he had his choice of either sleeping a top on of the tables and risking rolling off in the middle of the night or he could sleep on the cold ground in the dark and be awoken by one of his wife's dear daughters who forwent awakening kisses and preferred to wake him with a kick in the ribs.

It was clear that none of those that followed his dear wife liked him very much, he was used to receiving dirty looks but most of the people who used to give those sort of looks to him also did not tend to be armed with short swords and spears and axes, he would normally saying something witty if someone had a dirty look for him but the sight of so many weapons did seem to make him forget his wit. Eventually he told them that he wanted a new tent and these sweet ladies had been so kind as to grant him one.

Gods, he wanted some wine. He knew that the company had some but it seemed to be reserved for his wife and what she called officers. He hadn't drunk when he had meet Tysha, no more than any other man at least. So, how she even know to keep him deprived of wine was a mystery to him but the punishment was clearly the price for what his sharp tongue had said that night in her tent.

He could not deny that thought of sleeping in Tysha's bed, with her at his side and wine to drink was a thought that stirred something inside of him. The last time he had shared a bed with her had been the happiest in his entire life. Of course that happiness hadn't lasted, he still remembered how she had screamed when his father's men had burst down the door to their little cottage and had dragged her, half naked out into the cold light of day.

He very badly needed to have a drink, right this second. Of course, he knew that he would not be given one but that didn't change the fact that he needed one. The only thing he had to drink in the tent was a small pitcher of unsweetened goat's milk and the thought of drinking it turned his stomach from the inside. He wanted this to be over with.

The rain continued to pour down, coming down harder and harder and from outside came squeals of delight as Tyrion heard the foul children playing out in the rain, their shouts only served to make his headache even worse than it already was and he was forced to lay down on his cot and rub of the bridge of his nose to try and supress the pain.

He shut his eyes and tried to block out the noise so he could at least try and get some sleep but before he could even consider dropping off something cold and wet landed on his face and while his eyes were shut he got the distinct impression that he had just been spat on. It happened again and again and it was too frequent to be a man and so when he opened his eyes he saw what he had been fearing, a large dark stain on the roof of his tent from which rain water was dripping down on to him.

Tyrion hopped off of his cot and looked back at it, he would have to move it out of the way of the leak if he wanted to sleep but even this cot looked a bit too heavy for him to move and by the time he had moved it the roof of the tent might just give way and he would be soaked. He sighed and kicked at the ground and decided not to bother with it, he picked up the pitched from the table and took a swig of the milk.

It was as terrible as ever but his mouth was dry and he needed something to wet it, if he couldn't have wine then this would have to do. When more and more water began to fall from the roof, Tyrion decided that enough was enough. He clutched his cloak tighter and pulled up his hood before he stepped out into the rain and began to walk to his wife's command tent.

The children were still playing, kicking a bucket around and jumping in and over puddles. It was odd, but he briefly wondered what a child of his and Tysha might look like, would it be a dwarf like him? Have his silver gold hair and mismatched eyes? Would it grow taller than him and one day look down at him like everyone else in the entire world did? Would it be a boy or a girl?

He shook his head, that path lead only to madness and he was enot a mad man. He walked through the long lines of tents, they stretched out in every directions so it made it difficult for him to tell exactly where they were but he was fairly certain that they were still in the Riverlands, they had set off from where the crossroad meet the High Road into the Vale of Arryn and they had all been walking for three days.

Tyrion wasn't sure where they could be going, his wife's plan was to sail to Slaver's Bay in the east but Tyrion didn't know where they could take ship. They could not go to King's Landing as the city watch, corrupt and filled with his father's men as it was, weren't so incompetent as to not notice a large group of people marching towards their walls and they would slam the gates shut as soon as they saw them.

It was not a small group as well, even if they had a harbour they could leave from then he wasn't certain how many ship captains would be willing to ferry such a large group across the sea. It suddenly occurred to him then that his wife had come back from Westeros from across the sea and had brought all of this lot with her, perhaps they already had ships docked and waiting for them but if that was the case then Tyrion truly had no idea where they were going because he didn't know of any place where dozens of ships could be docked and no word had reached the King or his father yet.

The thought of his made his stomach feel uneasy with a mix of feelings, he wasn't sure if he would be grateful to see his banners flying over the hills or terrified. He was for all intents and purposes a hostage in need of rescuing but the deal he had made with Tysha repeated in the back of his head, he wanted to go to Slaver's Bay and bring back an army of slaves to make sure that what was his by right would be his in time.

If his father caught up with them and Tysha told him what he had agreed to then there was no chance in any of the seven hells that Tyrion would survive the reprisal, it would be the end of him. Assuming of course that his father had even bother to come looking for him, his father was many things but not even he was unaware of the heavy taboo of kinslaying, if there was ever a line that he was certain that his father would not cross then it was going to be that one.

So, perhaps his father would simply see this as a blessing in disguise. He didn't have to endure the existence of his twisted dwarf son under his roof any longer and he didn't have to deal with the fact that he would be a kinslayer in the eyes of those that were sworn to him. What would he care what a band of sellswords from the east did with him, and more importantly, what could he do about it.

When Tyrion thought of that, a part of him hoped that his father wouldn't try and save him. It would only make it better when he returned with an army of Unsullied to take Casterly Rock from him. The thought of how angry and hateful it would make his sweet sister as well only made the thought that much better in his mind, his father was the true ruler of Westeros, not all kings wore crowns and he would fill his father's seat in time. He promised himself that.

Those thoughts filled him with such a warmth that he barely even seemed to feel the rain as it landed against his small body.

It didn't take him long to find himself outside of his wife's command tent but it seemed he had an issue, two women with bronze skin and armed with long, thin spears and round copper shields did not seem ready to give him entrance, their eyes filled with nothing but contempt for him. Still, he was a much a lion as Jaime and Cersei he would show no fear to either of them. He strode in front of them and spoke commandingly. "Remove yourselves from my path, I need to speak with my wife and I need to speak with her now."

"Aren't you a little too young to have a lady wife? My little lord?" The woman on the left asked, this would not have been the first time that Tyrion had been mistaken for a child in his lifetime. But the tone of the woman's voice made it very clear to him that she was fully aware that he was not a child and for the millionth time Tyrion wished he had a weapon of his one to use, an axe to bury right into the middle of her smirking face.

"Now, now. Don't be unkind Naiva, no child could be as ugly as this." The woman mocked and Tyrion could feel his blood boil in his veins. "Go back to your tent, Dwarf, Tysha says she isn't to disturbed under any circumstances. She will summon you when she wants to speak with you, in the meantime can you find a bigger hood? By the Mother of Mountains even looking at you is enough to make me want to bring up my gruel, and it does that enough on it's own."

"They maybe you should forfeit your shares of it." It was the Ironborn girl who spoke, striding from inside of the tent. She was pretty, in a rather plain, lowborn sort of way, but her green eyes were as bright and deep as any Lannisters. She was dressed in boiled leather armour which had been dyed grey and a hatchet hung from one hip as a dirk hung from the other. "If you do not like the food, Atala, then you do not have to eat it and the rest of us would be more than glad for a little more of it."

Atala looked suitably chastised and even ashamed but Tyrion didn't doubt for a moment that it was due to how she had spoken to him. "I'm sorry Jara." The woman spoke softly, showing amazing deference to the younger girl. Jara nodded before she turned her attention on to Tyrion, there was no more softness or kindness in her eyes for him as there had been from any of the others but at least he didn't see outright hostility, contempt or disgust. That was better than most had ever shown him.

"She heard your voice, she says you can come in." And with that Jara turned and walked back inside without waiting for Tyrion to say a word, he stood there blinking dumbly for a second before he began to step towards the flaps of the tent.

Before he stepped inside however he glanced between both of the guards, both of whom seemed intent on staring off into the distance instead of looking at him. "Such courteous ladies, a greater pleasure if I have never known in this life. Oh, and don't worry by the way. If my wife does see fit to take you're gruel away Atala, then you may have my left overs. It's a perk of being small, I do not need to eat a great deal."

As soon as Tyrion stepped through the flaps of the tent he heard a loud snarl and a loud snap and he couldn't stop the smirk from forming on his face when thought of that arrogant bitch holding two halves of a broken spear.

Tysha was standing at the head of the table with Jara at her left and the woman with coal black skin and jewels in her cheeks whose name Tyrion couldn't remember even if he was bothered to try and at the moment he was certainly not. Tysha glanced up from the map she was studying for just a moment before she looked back down at it. "Hello Tyrion, what do you want?"

"What I would like to know is where is it that we are going? You say that we are going to Slaver's Bay, fine. How are we going to get there?" He asked as he sat himself down at a chair at the table, reaching out for a pitcher which he hoped was filled with wine. Before he could wrap his fingers around the handle however long slender fingers that he would recognise anywhere due to how many days he had seen them running through the hair on his head and his chest and between his legs got there first, picking the pitcher up.

Tysha stared down at him with a blank look in her eyes for a moment before she turned the pitcher upside down and the rich red wine, the colour of blood and the sight made his mouth even dryer, splashed against the ground until all that was left was a small puddle. Tyrion was certain that he had never seen a more heart breaking sight in his entire life. "What, my dear wife, did you do that for?"

"I imagine that you've had enough to drink in your lifetime, do you know what I heard about you when I asked about the Lannisters in taverns and inns? They talk about the golden queen and the kingsguard knight and the Old Lion who perches himself atop his mountain of gold but they speak about you as well." Tysha's voice had gained a note of steel and it almost seemed like an entirely different woman had stepped into the room. "They speak of the Old Lion's dwarf son, a reminder that even the greatest of men can sire monsters, a monster who beds whores by force and drinks every night until he bumbles around in a stupor."

"I know not if the first is true, though you certainly took me by force that night and I am no whore." He glanced down, suddenly finding that he could not look at her, a hand cupped under his chin and forced him to look at her. He found herself staring into his wife's eyes, he used to love looking into them. He used to never want to look away. "You will not drink wine, nor ale, nor mead. Not when you are with me, do you understand?"

"I understand." He was not happy, not even remotely close but he did understand. He reached up and moved Tysha's hand away from his chin and continued to stare up at her. "My question still stands, where exactly are we going, and for that matter. Where exactly are we at the moment?"

His wife turned and picked up the map and laid it in front of him, poking at it with her finger. Tyrion leaned forward so he could get a better look at it. They were near Stony Sept, he knew they had not been following the Kingsroad, they couldn't as it would take them to close to King's Landing but being so close to the Westerlands did not sit well with him, he was surprised that Tysha would take such a risk.

She began to drag her finger across the map and Tyrion followed it. "Once we are past Stony Sept, we will cross the rivers, or around them if we can not find a crossing and I think we won't if it keeps raining like this, and go down till we find the road between Highgarden and Bitterbridge, it will be close but we will have to follow it to the Kingswood, cut through it south until we come to the edge of the mountains and walk along them till we find Summerhall, we will go through the Boneway and then, we will go here." Her finger came to a stop.

Tyrion leaned forward and almost let out a scoff at what he saw, shaking his head. "Planky Town? Your ships are docked at Planky Town?" It almost seemed a joke, he knew that it was the closest thing that Dorne had to a natural harbour but he already knew that this wasn't going to work. "Do you honestly think that Prince Doran won't notice that several ships have moored practically on his front door and have not moved."

"Do you honestly think that he doesn't know?" Tysha responded and Tyrion was certain that if he wasn't used too being shocked lately then his mouth would be dropping like an old milk nurse's teats. "Prince Doran has not forgiven your father for a single second for what was done to his sister, not even for a moment. But he knew that Dorne couldn't fight and win a war on it's own, not to mention that they lost ten thousand spears on the Trident, they barely had any men to fight with."

A smile that looked far too much like Cersei's appeared on her face. "Prince Oberyn Martell, who hates your father almost as much as I do, will be coming with us to Slaver's Bay. Three of his bastard daughters will be coming with us though I do not know their names, also the second son of Prince Doran will be coming with us at least part the way though they have a different cause than us."

"Is there anything else that you need to know?"

Tyrion jumped out of his chair as he shook his head and began to walk towards the flap of the tents, before he could pull them apart however he heard Tysha call back for him, he turned to look at her and it looked like she was about to say something else but before she did she simply sighed and looked back down at her maps.

Tyrion stormed out of the tent, his black mood made the storm that raged down on to him even more firefly down than it had done before. He soon found his way back to his tent and undid his now sodden cloak, throwing it to the side. The roof of his tent was now leaking so much that it almost seemed that it didn't even matter that he had a tent, it was as like he would be sleeping in the rain anyway.

He would need to sleep in a feast tent again, it wouldn't be warm but at least he would be dry. That thought enraged him, or maybe it was simply the spark that had lit the wildfire. He picked up the pitcher of milk that had been now tainted with rainwater and threw it on the ground, watching as it shattered into pieces. Tyrion sighed and closed his eyes, that had not made him feel beet but at least it made him feel like he had done something.

He leaned down to pick up his sodden cloak and once again set out into the rain, at least if he was in a feast tent he might be able to get some food. But, well, considering his luck as of late, he would not hold his breath.

End of Chapter.

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	5. OBERYN I

Where Do Whores Go?

 **Oberyn I**

The sun gently bathed Dorne in warm, golden light, a cool wind was blowing from the direction of the sea that made the day pleasant indeed. Oberyn had broken his fast on a soup made up of eggs and lemons along with some pale and fluffy flat bread with a paste made of chickpeas and olives and a cup of sweet strongwine that helped to sooth some of his nerves.

It had not been so long ago that Elia and he had been playing in these fountains and pools, with a dozen other children playing around them. Well, he had done most of the playing to be honest. Elia had often been to delicate to play the games that he enjoyed the most, like the game where he had stood on another boy's shoulders and they tried to knock another person off of another's shoulders. They had tried to let Elia join in but Father had caught them and Oberyn was fairly sure that his ears were ringing.

His sister had always ill when she was a child, often falling into periods where she needed to be confined to her bedroom without anyone seeing her. Oberyn often snuck into her room in Sunspear to see her and brought her games and little carved wooden toys to try and always cheer her. He remembered that her favourite had been a unicorn that he had spent an entire week working on and even now, if he tried, he could just picture Elia sitting in her bed after the maester had finished leeching her, playing with it and making her smile.

He had always only wanted Elia to smile, more than anything in the world. All he had ever wanted to do was to keep her safe but it never seemed to work, he had been able to keep all of the Dornish and Reach men who thought that they were worthy of her but when Rhaegar had came, he had failed. Elia had gone north, had married the last dragon and had born him two children and for a time all had been well, and then, while Aegon had still been just a babe at his mother's breast and Rhaenys had been a little girl with a kitten, he had stolen the Stark girl and had brought war to the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros.

He had wanted to go and find the Dragon Prince and shove his spear through the back of his head as a punishment but Doran would be having none of that and he was almost completely confined to the halls of Sunspear, not being allowed to take part in the war to come even when ten thousand spears were marched up the Prince's Pass to fight on the Trident, if he had been there, if he had been placed in command of them instead of his Uncle Lewyn, things might have been different.

He had loved his Uncle Lewyn, he had taught him how to use both spear and sword when he had been a boy and he had been a fine mount when he needed a little extra reach to knock the blood oranges of off the trees and no one could defeat the both of them when he sat on his shoulders, no one could beat him when the played a game that involved pushing others into the water.

But for all that he had loved him, for all that he had admired him, for all that he had learned from his uncle, he wasn't a man to command armies. He was a knight, and a younger brother as well. He had been raised and educated and expected to follow his sister, he hadn't been expected to command. Oberyn was a second son too, but Doran had never been the martial one of them, he had learned how to fight with men, how to command them.

It should have been him, if it had then it all would have been different. Elia would still be alive, her babes would still be alive, Uncle Lewyn would still be alive and more of the ten thousand they had sent North would be alive and Dorne would have far fewer widows and orphans than it did currently. Yes, if only he had been leading them that day.

But he hadn't, Doran had refused to listen to him. And now this is where they were, their sister raped and murdered, her children butchered and the wolves and the stags had come to feed on the bloody meat that the lions had left for them. They were all monsters, the lot of them. Tywin Lannister and Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch were the obvious ones, had done the bloody deed, but Robert Baratheon had smiled and laughed and had shock all their hands over the dead bodies of all those that Oberyn loved.

He still dreamed of shoving a spear through the fat bastard of a king even now, he was just as guilty after all. Eddard Stark could die as well, oh to be true he had said some pretty words, stormed out of the Throne Room of the Red Keep in a rage if the reports were to be believed, but what had he expected to happen when he had risen up against the crown, swearing all of his swords to his foster brother? Did they think that the babes would be spared, that they would be allowed to take the black and be sent to the Faith?

If he did, then he was naïve and an idiot. And that foolishness was crime enough in his eyes, there were plenty of nights when he had dreamed about punishing Lord Stark for his part in the death of his sister as well. At times it seemed that thoughts of the violence he would bestow on those that hurt him was the only thing that granted him any true joy.

No, that wasn't entirely true. Ellaria brought him joy, more than any words could say. And his daughters, proud and stubborn wretches that they were brought him joy as well, but none of it felt right. How could he be happy when Elia, his dearest sister, the other half of his soul, his dearest friend and closest companion, was gone? When her children had been slaughtered? What right did he have to be happy when Elia never could be ever again?

All of his joy was seasoned with guilt and grief when he ever experienced it, maybe when he finally he got the justice that was needed, that was long overdue, then he would be able to not feel so terrible when he should feel naught but joy. Maybe, just maybe.

And maybe that justice was closer now than it ever had been before, if the woman truly managed to deliver on all that was promised. Oh, to be sure he would have to do his own part as well, but that by itself was nothing. Essos was well known to him and he had been to the cities of Slavers Bay but that wasn't the true reason he was needed, he was a Prince of Dorne and his word meant a great deal and he had his own coin to spend.

Doran was unsure about all of this, of course, he had his own plans but Oberyn was growing weary of waiting, there was a difference between waiting and stalling, patience and fear. Doran was ever cautious, but at times he could be as bad as an old woman. Oberyn had waited long enough and in the end this would all be for the better, his plans certainly had merit but they needed more, Doran wanted to wait until everything was perfect before he made any actual move himself.

Things would never fall perfectly as he wanted them too, Doran was excellent at keeping his secrets, Oberyn didn't doubt that his brother had plans moving that he didn't know about which was fine, but at times he was certain that Doran kept his own secrets far too well. How would one know where to step and where not, in order to avoid standing on another's foot?

Oberyn knew enough at least, and he knew the part that he had to play in the wars to come. He brought his goblet up to his lips and finished the wine off before standing and walking over to the balcony and staring out to the horizon, towards Planky Town. He could almost see the ships, all too large to truly dock at the town but being supplied by smaller boats as they waited for their people to return to them, so they might cast off and begin their long voyage back to the east.

So caught was he in his thoughts of where would make the safest and quickest landing, that he didn't hear the door open or someone else coming in to the room until he heard his daughter speak to him. "Father." Nymeria spoke, the sound of her skirts rustling against the floor like a whisper of breeze. "Our guests have arrived, Uncle Doran leaves them to your hospitality."

Oberyn said nothing and turned to face his daughter, she was dressed in seafoam green silk with black diamonds glittering at her throat and her ears. Two large golden bracelets encircled her wrists. Her face was a mask of calm poise, as ever. "Very well my love." Oberyn spoke as he took a step towards her and offered her his arm. "Let us go and meet them."

Nymeria nodded with a smile and they began to make their way through the hallways of the Old Palace, Doran was at the Water Gardens and there he would remain until they had made their departure. Arianne had been summoned to his side, his brother deciding once again that it would be best for his daughter to know little and less until the time was right. Yet as always, when it came to his brother, the right time never seemed to come.

Off of the courtyard of the old palace was a small chamber, filled with silk pillows and candles that gave over the sent of orange burning in the wall sconces and on the tables. Obara and Tyene were both already in there, his eldest daughter dressed in a silk riding shirt and men's trousers while Tyene was dressed in a dress of blue silk and white lace, her golden hair bound up in a net.

Nymeria took a seat in between her sisters, and Oberyn took a seat at the head of the table. Servants brought in platters pilled high with spicy flatbreads, silver trays pilled up with cream cakes, flagons of Dornish red, some sour, some sweet and all spicy. There was none of Lord Redwyne's coloured water here.

The door to the chamber opened once again and Quentyn stepped in, he had not seen the boy since his brother had sent him to ward with the Yronwoods but it was odd to see him now. The boy was looking more and more like Doran with every single day, it was almost eerie in a way. Everytime the boy opened his mouth, he had always half expected a sharp reprimand for running in the halls or for pushing one of the other boys into the pools.

That had never happed, for all that Quent looked like his father he was far more meeker than his Father ever had been, whenever the boy tried to speak to him all that would come out were words that tripped up in his mouth like his tongue had been tied into a knot. Even now, the boy looked nervous and unsure of every step he took as he moved further into the room and took a seat at the side of Oberyn himself, glancing between his uncle and his cousins, as if worried that one of them were going to lung at him like a viper and take a bit out of him.

He supposed it couldn't be helped, who knew what the old fool Yronwood had been filling his head with while he had been his ward, especially when it came to him. He hadn't poisoned his blade that he had used in that pointless duel with his grandfather, no matter what anyone might whisper about him. To be true he was the Red Viper and had no objections to poisoning his weapons if he had too do so.

But Lord Edgar Yronwood had been a foolish and stubborn old man who had gotten himself all worked up about the fact that he had caught Oberyn in the bed of his Paramour, honestly he didn't know why he had been surprised, Aaron Sand had been a young and handsome thing and he had needed more than that dusty old fool to keep him entertained, and he had demanded a duel for satisfaction.

Oberyn only poisoned his weapons if he thought that he had too, and he nothing to fear from Lord Edgar, the man was old and slow and swollen with pride and a long life of eating fine food and sitting on his arse, doing little and less. Oberyn danced out of the way of his blows, before sticking back. He had ovetextended himself and did suffer a cut but he had bestowed a larger one on to Lord Edgar.

Both of their wounds had been treated, soaked in boiling wine and bound up in bandages. But while Oberyn had suffer no further ill, Lord Edgar's wound had festered and had killed him in a matter of days. Of course, the blame for that had fallen on to him. He had been a vicious boy even back then, his skill with poison well known and he had been challenged to a fight.

But Oberyn was no fool, if it had been a duel to the death then he might well have poisoned the blade, but it had only been to first blood. The Lord of Yronwood and warden of the Boneway had died from a festered cut, little more and little less. Sadly, the Yronwoods were never known for their great reason and the humiliation he had brought on to their lord had not been forgotten, it didn't matter in their eyes if he had poisoned the sword, one way or another he had killed him.

And they wanted justice for that, after the Lord had died he had been held at Yronwood, poor sweet pretty Aaron had been flogged and exiled from Yronwood with not even the clothes on his back, and a raven had been sent down to Sunspear, telling of all what had happened. Two weeks passed before a raven was returned to them from his brother, ordering him to be brought to Sunspear so that he could face justice from the Prince of Dorne himself.

When the words had been read to him, it had been a hard fight to hold back a shiver. Doran he could deal with easily enough, his brother he could handle, but the Prince of Dorne? That was someone more dangerous, that was the only man in the whole wide world that Oberyn could honestly say that he was actually afraid of. The Prince would do anything, to ensure Dorne's safety.

The voyage down to Sunspear seemed to have taken an eternity, being surrounded by people who hated him certainly hadn't helped that, but the dread of facing his brother had made the journey take even longer than it should have in his mind.

Doran did not have him brought before the entire court when he arrived, he had sent the Yronwoods to the great hall where they would feast and rest while Oberyn was brought him in his solar so they could speak privately. That by itself was enough to sooth his fears somewhat, if Doran was going to call for his head then he would have done it where all the Yronwoods and the gathered nobles of Dorne could watch.

That was not to say that Doran hadn't been angry, in point of face he had been furious. Utterly so, Doran did not scream nor yell when he was angry, he did not curse or spit. But what he would do is stare at you with his black eyes burning through you, seeing all that you had done wrong, all how you had put a foot wrong. When the Prince of Dorne was angry at you, you knew.

Elia had been taken ill by the stress of it all, and by the gods if anything could make him feel worse than Doran's burning stare then it was the thought that he might have done something to hurt his sister. In his own mind that had been more than punishment enough, but of course the Yronwoods wouldn't settle for that?

They only thing they would settle for would be exile, that had stung more than he would have liked to admit but Doran had a way of making you see the best side of things, an exiling wasn't forever and he always wanted to travel. And he would get to keep his head, which wasn't the most important thing. Trunks had been packed for him, arrangements for a boat to Pentos had been made for him as well. It would be better if he was already on the way across the Narrow Sea before Doran told the Yronwoods what had happened.

He was given a brief moment, far too brief, in which to say goodbye to Elia. She was in bed, almost as pale as a northerner with her chest heaving with every single breath that she took. The sight of her had broken his heart and terrified him all at once, she had been deep in slumber and so he had simply pressed a kiss to her forehead before leaving the room and feeling down to the stables, dressed in an old woollen cloak to hide his identity.

He spent close to ten years in the Free Cities, always finding time to slip back into Dorne when he felt her truly needed to see his siblings for a day or two. Most of his time in the Cities had been spent as a sellsword, he had even set up his own group of sellswords. Most of whom had returned to Dorne with him, that experience in Essos was what convinced Doran to go along with all of this.

Oberyn picked up a flagon of wine, a sour red he was very fond of, and filled a cup up for each of his daughters and one for Quentyn. Obara finished her cup off in three large gulps and then filled it up again., Nymeria brought it up to her lips and took a single sip from it, Tyene simply rested her finger on the rim of it while Quentyn brought his own goblet up and took a deep drink from it, clearly trying to battle his nerves.

"Calm yourself lad, all will be well." Quentyn jumped at his words as his goblet slipped from his hands, spilling wine all the way down his clothes, staining them. Obara let out a bark of laughter, Nym giggled slightly and Tyene simply smiled before shaking her head. Quentyn flushed read and found a scrape of silk which he used to mop up the drink. "You look like you've just been told you have to fight a dragon."

No, he didn't need to fight a dragon. All his brother's elder son had to do was to wed one. Which by itself was a fearful prospect, still that was something to worry about weeks if not moons into the future. What was needed now was to deal with a whore and a dwarf, neither of which should be all too difficult.

The door to the chamber opened and their guests arrived, he had seen both of them before but that had been so very long ago. The woman, Tysha, he had seen when she and her "daughters" had come into Dorne from Planky Town. She was pretty, with black hair and green eyes, slender and pale. Her skin was more as like to burn under the bright sun of Dorne as it was to brown.

He had heard tales of her daughters over the years, of the jobs she had taken part in. She had clearly seen horror in her life, her eyes were older than the rest of her face and while at first glance she might look slender it was clear that if you looked closely that there were well defined muscles under her arms. This was a warrior, he could always tell.

And a killer, he could always tell that too.

The dwarf was as much a disappointment as he had been when he was a babe, he was still an ugly little bastard to say the least but that was all that could truly be said of him. His hair was closer to white gold than the brilliant yellow of all the other Lannisters and while one eye was as green as jade the other was as black as night. A brow that was too pronounced, a nose that was squashed and a beard that grew yellow and black all tangled together.

Oh yes, this was the imp of Casterly Rock and there could be no mistake about that. The dwarf waddled over to the table and took his seat on an extra padded cushion and reached out for a flagon, filling up a goblet as quickly as he could and gulped it down like he hadn't had anything to drink in years as Tysha stared at him with disapproval.

As soon as the goblet was empty, Tyrion Lannister reached out for the goblet once again and quickly filled it up once again and drained half of it in one go before placing the goblet back down on the table with a contented sigh. "A choice wine my Prince, made even sweeter since my dear sweet lady wife has forbidden me to drink while I am in her company."

The dwarf gestured his goblet towards Tysha and that truly did surprise him, A Lannister of Casterly Rock had married a clearly lowborn girl? It was hard to believe but then Oberyn saw the look of annoyance and frustration flash across Tysha's face that could only belong to a wife. He was more than willing to believe that a woman would marry a dwarf, but a Lannister marrying a commoner? That was hard to swallow.

But at the same time, it did make a certain sort of sense. Tysha hated Tywin Lannister almost as much as he did, if not more. She had not spoken as to the reason for that but if she had been married to his son, then Oberyn was sure that Tywin had punished her for daring to rise above her situation.

Tysha walked over to them and took a seat next to her husband, shooting a glare at him before she reached out and picked up one of the cream cakes and took a small bite out of it before she spoke. "Prince Oberyn, always a pleasure to see you. I assume these are your daughters and your brother's son? A pleasure to meet all of you, if there is nothing else to discuss I would suggest we make our way to Planky Town, I don't want my captains to start worrying more than they need too."

Oberyn studied the woman before he shook his head. "Not quiet yet, there are things that must be discussed before we move on. For one, we need to start with the fact that while I am more than willing to go to Slaver's Bay and use my brother's coin to buy you the army you require so very much, but there is something more we need."

He turned his hand to the dwarf who had reached out for a flatbread and was nibbling at it. "Considering that for you, this is all to put you on your Father's seat, when we do that and place you there, every single coin we spend on the Unsullied will be paid back, in full." He reached into his robes and retrieved a paper scroll which he handed over to the Lannister. "You will sign that before we go any further, an agreement that Dorne is to be paid back."

As Tyrion read the paper, he snapped his fingers and a servant came in with an ink pot and a quill which he then placed in front of the little lord. Tyrion raised an eyebrow for a moment before letting out of a sigh and dipped the quill into the ink pot before signing the scroll. "Considering the amount of slave soldiers we would need to buy in order to take Casterly Rock, I am going to be a very poor lord indeed."

"You will have more than most ever will." Tysha muttered as her husband finished signing and then looked up at Oberyn. "There, he's signed it but I assure you Prince Doran's coin will not be the be the only thing to buy them, I will be using coin of my own as well, now can we go?"

"No, not yet. My brother wants something else, when we have taken the Casterly Rock, the Unsullied are to be freed, all of them."

"Agreed." Tyrion spoke.

"And when we get the Unsullied, we will not be coming straight back to Westeros. We will need to make a detour, a significant one towards Vaes Dothrak."

"The Dothraki holy city?" Tysha spoke with a frown. "You were not lying, that is indeed a significant detour and a dangerous one. What's so important that it would require something like that?"

Quentyn turned and looked at him, imploring him to say nothing. "That is not important, at least not for now. We need someone and all that is all you need to know and it can not wait, if you want our coin and your army for your vengeance, then is what we need?" Oberyn held out his hand over the table. "Do we have an arrangement or don't we?"

Man and wife glanced at one another for a long moment, Tysha nodded and Tyrion sighed before stretching out and taking his hand to shake it. "We have an arrangement, my prince."

End of Chapter

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